I Dream of You Often
by Elizabeth Arian
Summary: Molly Hooper is in love. She feels lost. The man she is in love with doesn't even notice. Doesn't care. Or does he?
1. Chapter 1

**I Dream of You Often.**

**Chapter One.**

She wondered how much time she'd wasted dreaming about him. She concluded more than was probably healthy. She leaned her head on her hand and began to stare out of the window and dream – again. It was always the same dream, slightly altered occasionally but essentially the same. It always ended with the words 'I love you.'

"What are you smiling at?" A sharp voice interrupted her and she nearly fell off her chair in fright.

"It's you."

"Ever obvious Molly." Sherlock stated, removing his gloves and scarves, one eyebrow raised quizzically at her.

"Sorry." She muttered, almost angry that the man she was dreaming about had interrupted her dreams. "What do you need?"

Funny how their encounters were always centered around what Sherlock needed and not what Molly needed. She stopped in front of him and simply gazed while he rattled off a series of instructions. She sighed.

"I'm sorry, am I boring you?" He asked, taking a step away from her.

"Oh, no, God no, of course not." She paused and shut her eyes briefly, turning her head away from him, "I'll be right back."

She flashed him a quick smile, which he ignored and practically ran to fetch his equipment, cursing her stupidity all the way. When she returned, Sherlock was already deeply engrossed in his research, he said nothing when she placed the books he'd asked for down next to him. She sat on a stool at the opposite end of the room and stared. He was beautiful. His dark hair, his pale skin, she didn't really need to look, she'd had his face memorised for quite a while, but the Sherlock of her imaginings was always vastly different from the Sherlock of reality. She liked to watch him breathe, it was human, it was real. She watched his chest rise and fall as he worked and she felt peaceful, she turned her attention to his hands. She adored his hands, so graceful, so clever, so careful and precise. Watching his hands move over _her _instruments sent a thrill through her body.

"Molly."

Even her name on his lips made her shudder.

"Molly?"

She suddenly realised she wasn't dreaming and sat up quickly.

"Hmm?" She murmured from her hiding place.

"I need you."

The words were simple enough and not uttered with any feeling, it was simply an order. Even so, Molly felt a surge of desire as she wondered what it would be like for him to say that to her in the context she so desperately wanted. She appeared in front of him and he moved to one side.

"Check that against that would you?"

He pointed to the microscope and then something in the book at her elbow. She nodded. This was the way it always worked, Sherlock knew he was right, he just liked to be told.

"I knew it!"

She wasn't sure what he knew, but the way his eyes sparkled and the faintest flush appeared on his white cheek, she felt it didn't bode well.

"Molly, you're an angel!" He suddenly exclaimed placing his hands either side of her face, "Thank you."

He kissed her, the quickest and briefest of kisses but it was enough to completely throw her. At Christmas, he'd only kissed her cheek and she'd replayed it in her mind until she thought she'd go crazy with longing and now he'd kissed her again! She couldn't wait to be alone so she could replay it in her head. Before she could fully regain her senses, he'd disappeared. She smiled after his departing figure. Molly Hooper had always been alone, no man had ever been even the tiniest bit interested in her, and she didn't flatter herself that Sherlock Holmes was either – but…he liked her. She knew that, and he could relax with her. He wasn't as much on guard with her as he seemed to be with others. Molly could well be cynical and say it was because she posed no threat, she was a non-being to him, but the romantic in her said different. It said it was because he _liked _her. She licked her lips and closed her eyes. She could still taste him. She placed a finger on her bottom lip and sighed. It was enough. For now, it was enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two.**

The darkness was comforting, it enveloped him in its silence and he breathed it in. It wasn't far, he'd known where she lived for a long time and he had been coming here often. She never knew of course, that would have ruined everything. She never knew how he watched her, how her innocent peace soothed and calmed his often frayed nerves. Molly always slept peacefully, he noticed with envy. He wasn't sure how it had started, he had watched her pottering about in her lab one afternoon and he had felt something stir. He found himself enjoying watching her. The way she moved and the tone of her voice roused something in him he'd never felt before. It was intense and Sherlock had an addictive personality. He needed more.

It wasn't a difficult thing to break into her personnel file and find out where she lived. One night, when John had one of his many dates, he had crept out and found her apartment. He didn't believe in God, but he had thanked him that night for allowing Molly's apartment to be on the ground floor. The fates were obviously with him as Molly slept with her window open; Sherlock gently prised it open further and climbed in. Molly's cat had raised his head at Sherlock, who placed a finger to his lips in his most authoritative manner and the cat had gone back to sleep. A small shaft of moonlight pushed its way through the curtains and played over Molly's bare shoulders. Sherlock watched in fascination. The very air held a peace that Sherlock had rarely experienced. He sat on the floor opposite her bed and watched her breathe, she moved occasionally and groaned and Sherlock felt a knot tie in his stomach. She was beautiful. He wondered if she knew. He decided she didn't. She would never fawn over him as much if she had had the confidence her beauty deserved.

Sherlock had been clandestinely watching Molly sleep for about a month when he couldn't take it anymore. He had to touch her. He slipped out again as he done so many times before and all but ran to Molly's apartment, letting himself in the usual way, he was aware his breathing was much faster, his pulse much quicker. He trod lightly over to her bedside and shooed the cat away, Molly let out a deep sigh as she moved and her eyelids fluttered open. Sherlock wasn't sure how she would react. She smiled gently,

"Sherlock."

It wasn't a question, just a statement as if she had expected to see him sitting on her bed. She seemed so different, so perfectly relaxed, so…radiant in her semi-awake state. Sherlock bent down and brushed his lips against hers. She groaned.

"I'm dreaming."

Her voice was quiet and Sherlock could feel himself growing crazy with desire.

"No." He whispered in her ear as he shrugged his jacket off.

"Sherlock?"

This time it was a question. Now she was awake. He smiled.

"Yes," He kissed her again. Harder this time. She barely responded. He commanded her. "Kiss me."

Confusion was written all over her face.

"How did you?" She started.

He stopped her with another kiss.

"Please Molly, I don't know why but I_ need_ you."

She visibly shuddered in his arms.

"What?"

"I _need_ to have you. Now."

Her eyes changed, they were no longer dim with sleep, they were alive with fire. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. Their kiss was heated, hard, longed for. Their mouths burned for each other and their hands frantically ripped away clothes and pulled at skin. Molly felt herself swept away on a tidal wave of pleasure, Sherlock kissed every inch of her with a passion she had thought him incapable of. She responded with an urgency she was almost ashamed of. Soon, too soon, it was over. Sherlock's naked body lay next to her, his rhythmical breathing a sign of his deep sleep. Molly couldn't take her eyes off him. She could hardly believe what had happened, this sort of thing just didn't happen. Not to ordinary people. Not to her. Men like him didn't want women like her. She almost giggled as she realised _he_ did. It was extraordinary, the feelings coursing through her body. She felt complete, whole, as if she could die at that moment and it wouldn't matter. She had achieved everything she wanted. Him. He loved her. He had kissed her and made love to her and stayed. He was here, asleep in her bed and _he had wanted her. _She wasn't stupid she knew it wouldn't last, but she didn't care. She could live forever on tonight.

Sherlock turned and placed an arm around her, she stroked his marble skin and a single tear rolled its way down her flushed cheek. She was overwhelmingly in love and she knew it would kill her…


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

He hadn't seen her since. Hadn't been near her. Had gone to the lab at unsociable hours, when he knew she wouldn't be there. He was ashamed. He couldn't take back what he'd done but he regretted it, it had been a moment of madness, an inexplicable impulse and now he felt confused, embarrassed and WRONG. If he could never have seen her again he would have consented. He felt so unlike himself that it was driving him crazy.

Molly felt desperately sad, desperately and overwhelmingly sad, as if her whole world was crashing in and she couldn't stop it. The tumult of emotions racing through her brain on a daily basis was deafening. Nothing mattered to her, her work was suffering because she couldn't concentrate on anything but him. His face was in front of her wherever she turned, she saw him everywhere and she felt him until she wanted to weep with longing.

It was winter, but it was a beautiful winter. The air was crisp and ice cold but the sun was brilliant, London shone in it. Molly breathed in the cool air and for the first time in six months she felt calm. For the first time she didn't want to scream at the happy multitudes of bodies around her, scream at the injustice of the world, that while they were allowed relationships, marriages, children and happiness, she was forced to cry herself to sleep and see nothing before her but a bleak and lonely future. Today was different. Today she had woken up and decided that she was no longer going to be a slave to Sherlock Holmes, she was not going to be another whim, that she deserved as much happiness as any of these people and she was going to have it.

Sherlock stared out into the brilliant sunshine and groaned. He hated beautiful weather, it made people behave strangely. They smiled more and became…positive. They ignored the realities of their miserable lives and made believe they were happy. Simply because the sun was out. Pathetic. Molly had ceased to be a problem, he had resolved that she would no longer cause him embarrassment. She was merely a whim, a fleeting obsession that had been spent and had passed. He was Sherlock Holmes for God's sake! He would not be reduced to sobbing like a_ normal_ human over a woman. Especially not a woman such as Molly Hooper. No, he needed to work during the daytime, he needed the lab, which meant seeing her. He would have to see her. He shrugged. And so see her he would, she hadn't contacted him so he assumed she was over the whole sordid affair. As was he. In a flourish, he leapt from his chair and grabbed his coat. Today was the day. Today he would put the Molly Hooper debacle behind him…


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four.**

Molly arrived back into work with five minutes of her lunch break to spare and nearly expired on the spot as she approached her office. Sherlock Holmes. He was sitting at her desk as if he owned it, as if he hadn't slept with her six months ago and then severed all contact. She turned her back on him and leaned against the wall. She took a deep breath, no, she wasn't having this. He wanted her to be the hopeless, quivering wreck she knew she was inside but there was no way in hell she was letting him see what he'd put her through. With force she pushed open the door.

"Good afternoon Sherlock." She said in the breeziest voice she could manage. He looked up at her briefly.

"Molly."

She was shaking as she removed her coat and flung it on her chair.

"Long time, no see." She eventually managed with a smile, leaning against the desk he was working on.

"Mmm." He grunted, not looking up this time.

She could feel herself getting hot. _Don't blush_, she commanded herself.

"How are you?" Her voice was getting shakier by the minute. This was absurd.

"Fine." His mono-syllabic answers were beginning to grate on her nerves.

She tapped her fingers on the desk, not really knowing what to say next. She bit her bottom lip in frustration and then stopped with a jump as she began to taste blood. She jumped again as Sherlock's hand slammed down on hers.

"Please stop doing that."

She looked into his eyes. They seemed the same, there was no pain in them, no unshed tears, no evidence of a sleepless night. He was exactly the same as before. Before she could stop it a tear rolled down her cheek. Sherlock sighed and took one her fingers, caressing it gently he said in almost a whisper,

"Don't dream about me Molly. I'm not worth it."

"I know," She said, the tears flowing freely now, "I think I really do know that."

She pulled her finger free and ran out into the air.

Sherlock stared at his hand for a while and moved his fingers slowly in the air that had contained her. Why didn't he say it? Why did he choke on the words? _I'm sorry._ He was right, he wasn't worth it. He turned back to the microscope and when he switched the light off at the end of the day, he hadn't even noticed that Molly's coat was still on her chair…


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Sherlock was in between sleep, a much needed sleep. He hadn't slept in three days, a case. An uninteresting case but one that had required a lot of leg work and sleepless nights. He could hear movement in the living room. He forced his eyes open and willed his legs to move. He felt ill. Throwing on his dressing gown, he found his way to the door.

A man was pacing in his living room.  
"John?"  
The man whirled round, his hand over his mouth in mock surprise. Sherlock moved towards him.  
"What is it?"  
"I..." John faltered and placed a hand on Sherlock's arm, "Sherlock, she's..."  
Sherlock tensed, there weren't many 'she's' in either of their lives and the ones they had were cared for.  
"She? She who John?" Sherlock tried to keep his voice calm while his heart was racing.  
"Molly." John almost choked on the word, immediately Sherlock's heart ceased to beat, or at least it felt that way. He drew in a breath and out both his hands on his friend's shoulders.  
"John, what about Molly?"  
John looked directly into his friend's eyes and let a tear fall from his own.  
"She's in a coma Sherlock."  
Sherlock stumbled backwards into the fireplace.  
"How?"  
"She was found, on the south bank of the Thames, suffering from exposure and a blow to the head. She had a note attached to her."  
Sherlock turned slowly, one eyebrow raised.  
"A note?"  
"It said 'Don't play with toys you don't intend to keep.' It was addressed to you."  
John's voice was low and strained.  
"What have you done Sherlock?"  
Sherlock closed his eyes. What had he done? When had he last seen her? He couldn't even remember. Curse the woman, she'd been nothing but trouble since he'd met her. He opened his eyes, no, maybe not all the time. He flashed back to that night and his chest tightened. He went to the door.  
"Where the hell are you going Sherlock?" John was almost shouting. He couldn't deal with this, not now.  
"I'm going to get dressed."  
"What about Molly? Sherlock? Sherlock?"  
John's voice followed him up the stairs but he ignored it, all he could hear was Molly's breathless voice saying his name as he...he slammed open the door and ran to the window. Air, he needed air...

He breathed in. Who could possibly know about him and Molly? Why would anyone even care? He shut the window. He needed to see her. He dressed quickly and left, briefly noting John had gone and Mrs. Hudson was nowhere to be seen. He headed to Scotland Yard first and went in search of Lestrade. He found him pacing in his office.  
"You!" Greg shouted, almost running to him, before Sherlock could confirm it was indeed him, a fist came flying into his face and he was flung to the floor.

"I don't know how you're involved in this Sherlock but I know you are and it's not fair on her, she could die Sherlock!"  
He could see a million tiny lights in front of his eyes and he couldn't really register was being said to him, stumbling he got to his feet and tried to stop the blood pouring from his nose.  
"Where is she?" he growled.

He waited until visiting hours were over and the wards were clear of nurses. He slid out of his hiding place and trod lightly to the bed he knew she was lying in. he approached her slowly, not sure how he was going to react. It had been so long since he'd seen her and the last time, he was hardly chivalrous. He stopped just short of her bed, he could see her blond hair falling over her shoulder, the soft rise and falloff her chest and in spite of himself he smiled. Watching her sleep was always soothing. Until he saw the machines. A thousand beeps filled the air as they monitored her breathing, her heartbeat. He stared at them in confusion and fear. Then he looked at her. Her beautiful face was swollen and scarred, her eyes closed shut in a painful slumber. He took her hand and wound her unresponsive fingers through his own.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered, pulling her fingers to his lips and gently kissing them, "I'm so, so sorry."

Tears fell freely on to Molly's hand and Sherlock fell to his knees by her bed.

John Watson stood open mouthed at the entrance to the intensive Care ward. He felt sick, tired and overwhelmed. He had never seen Sherlock Holmes cry and now he had, he didn't like it, he didn't like it at all.

* * *

**Sorry for the length of time between updates! Thank you for all the follows, favourites and reviews! Very much appreciated.**

**- Elizabeth  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six.**

"Why didn't you tell me?" John asked his friend quietly one night. Sherlock didn't look at him.  
"I don't know what you think you know John but it is inevitably wrong." Sherlock had his eyes closed and he refused to be tricked into talking about Molly.  
"You're in love with her."  
Sherlock smiled, opened his eyes and sat up.  
"No."  
"I saw you cry by her bedside Sherlock."  
Sherlock sighed, he supposed he had cried. Damn.  
"I cried because I was sorry I'd put her in there."  
"How did you put her in there?" John wasn't letting this go. Sherlock stood and leaned against the fireplace, studying his face in the mirror. He saw himself say the words but he could hardly believe them.  
"I slept with her."  
John stared at him, unblinking.  
"When?"  
"Oh ages ago, six months or more."  
"Just once?"  
"John!"  
"I just want to know how serious this relationship is."  
"It isn't a relationship. It only happened once and I was...," Sherlock faltered, "I don't know what came over me. I haven't been near her since. I saw her at work the other day when..."  
He stopped suddenly and straightened, a moment of epiphany on his face that John knew all too well. Before he could say any more, they were interrupted by Mrs. Hudson's chirrupy tones coming up the stairs.  
"Sherlock? You're brother's here! Though why I should keep showing your guests up I don't know!"  
"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft Holmes' solemn voice preceded him into the room as Mrs. Hudson bustled back down the stairs.  
"What do you want?" Sherlock said, throwing himself back into his chair. John stood and held out his hand.  
"Mycroft." He said with a smile.  
"John." Mycroft returned, drawing out the word to a drawl, never taking his eyes of his brother, "I'm here to talk about Molly Hooper."  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow but remained outwardly nonchalant.  
"What about her?"  
"Don't play with me Sherlock. The woman was beaten to within an inch of her life and thrown into to the Thames because of you."  
"Why because of me?" Sherlock shouted, causing John to jump. Mycroft smiled slyly.  
"No longer a virgin eh brother?"  
Sherlock shot him a look that would have lesser men begging for mercy. John took a step towards the door, he did not want to be caught up in an argument between the Holmes brothers.  
"There are people who would quite like your 'snooping' to stop Sherlock."  
"I'm aware of that."  
"Yes, well, they intend to stop you by, and I quote 'burning the heart out of you."  
Sherlock tensed but remained silent. John couldn't take his eyes from them.  
"Rather melodramatic I agree but you see, you have so few people that mean anything to you that when they find a new one well they, tend to overreact in an attempt to get you to...well react."  
Mycroft gave a shallow laugh and turned toward the door.  
"These people are impossible to catch Sherlock, they have a system, a network and it is run by one man. We cannot touch him, you know that. My advise to you dear brother is whatever you feel or felt for Dr. Hooper, it ends now. Pray to whatever God you believe in and sever all ties. For her sake if not for yours."  
"I feel nothing for her."  
Sherlock closed his eyes and Mycroft frowned.  
"Then your actions are even more inexplicable to me than they were before. It shouldn't be too hard to stay away from her then should it?" Mycroft smiled and turned to John.  
"Goodbye Dr. Watson."  
John nodded but was looking at Sherlock. Mycroft descended the stairs and John didn't move until he heard the downstairs door click shut.  
"I thought I knew you Sherlock. I thought if there was ever going to be in a woman in your life that she'd be the luckiest woman on the planet because I thought you'd move heaven and earth to protect her, that your love would be as strong as your hate, as powerful as your sense of justice, as beautiful as your mind. I was wrong. Molly was just an experiment and she was so in love with you. You didn't deserve her. You don't deserve anyone."  
John slammed the door as he left, Sherlock did not move. He knew Molly was in love with him. He stared into the dying flames of his fire and saw her face.  
"Molly Hooper, I think I love you."  
The words felt wrong, strange in his mouth, laughable in his voice. He couldn't say what he didn't feel. He wasn't sure he knew what love was, what it felt like. He felt someone for Molly, angry at her treatment, scared of the way she looked at him but love? He sighed. His thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of his mobile. He dug it out of his pocket. A number he didn't recognise.  
"Hello?"  
Silence. A slight smile.  
"Yes, I'll be there. One hour, that's fine."  
He hung up and twirled his phone in the air. He flew to his bedroom with one thought on his mind. Revenge.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven.**

Sherlock felt tense, nervous, for perhaps the first time in his life. Moriarty. The name made him choke with...what? Fear? Perhaps. It disgusted him certainly. That someone could so carelessly hurt another human being simply to gain attention was unthinkable to him and yet he admired the man's nerve. The day was cold and the night turned even colder as Sherlock made his way to Bart's, why this hospital always seemed to be at the centre of all his dramas, he couldn't understand. As he approached the austere building, his heart skipped a beat, and not simply because of his impending meeting. He saw her briefly in the window and he closed his eyes to rid himself of the image. Climbing the stairs to the roof, his mind flitted back and forth between the night he had made love to her and what he was about to do. He pushed open the door and strode purposefully through to be greeted by a sinister giggle.  
"Was she good?" Moriarty drawled out the last word and sneered as he approached.  
"Better than any woman you've ever taken I'm sure."  
Moriarty laughed,  
"I've never taken anything that didn't truly want to be taken."  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow,  
"Is that so?"  
Moriarty giggled again,  
"Do you like my location?" He turned away from Sherlock and swung his arms wide, gesturing across the city, " You can see all the lights of London, twinkling like little bugs - just waiting to be squished."  
Sherlock said nothing, it was clear the man was insane, he just wasn't sure how insane.  
"Why am I here?" Sherlock was getting bored with this charade. Moriarty turned and scowled.  
"I wanted your attention, so I broke your toy."  
"You had my attention before Mo...before anyone else was involved."  
Moriarty laughed and threw his head back,  
"Yes, but I needed you to take me seriously. My business is my business, I don't appreciate busy bodies and I don't take kindly to interfering. This is a warning Sherlock, I'll break more than your bitch if you bother me again."  
Sherlock smiled,  
"Will you?" He turned and walked back to the door.  
"Is that it?" Moriarty shouted, his voice an almost unnatural pitch, "Is that all I get? I practically kill the woman you love and that's it?"  
Sherlock turned,  
"Who said I loved her?"  
"You're Sherlock Holmes! Nothing you do is without meaning."  
Sherlock laughed gently,  
"I am a man."  
"Then you can be killed."  
Sherlock walked over to him and stood within inches of his face, in a voice that defied opposition, he looked straight into this madman's eyes and said,  
"So can you."  
Before Moriarty could reply, Sherlock was gone.

Sherlock shook with anger as he fled into the night, he wanted to kill this man for what he had done to Molly but he knew that would not solve his problem, that Moriarty was only one of a hundred in his organisation and this needed more rational thought and less emotion, but he was emotional and he needed an outlet. Molly. The ward was quiet but he found a way in, Molly had been moved to a private room, she was, after all, staff. He tried the handle and slipped in easily, Molly was asleep. She had come out of the coma and was slowly beginning to heal, her breathing was regular and steady and Sherlock immediately felt calmer. He walked over to her and placed a hand on her cheek. He smiled. She was beautiful. Her eyelids fluttered and she opened them. She smiled when she saw him.  
"I knew you'd come." Her voice was hoarse, as if she hadn't used it in a long time. Sherlock bent and kissed her cheek.  
"I'm sorry."  
She closed her eyes as he kissed her and opened them again.  
"I know. I love you Sherlock."  
The intensity in her eyes was frightening and Sherlock could do nothing. He bent again and gently brushed his lips across hers.  
"I know." He squeezed her hand gently, "Go back to sleep, you're safe now, I'll make sure of it."  
Molly nodded and closed her eyes, within seconds she was asleep. Sherlock removed his coat and sat next to the bed, his eyes never left her as she slept and in the morning, as the sun rose, he was gone.


End file.
